Stolen Vengeance - The Silver Crescents Trilogy: Book Two
by Thieves of Thieves
Summary: They waited for twenty years. Now the Tam'Akar will finally make their move against the Silver Crescents and Leila Lockharte. But first, they must fight against legendary criminals that have sworn their life to protecting Valenwood. As Leila tries to fight against her sworn enemies, an old mercy comes back to haunt her. Will she know triumph? Or face catastrophe?
1. Prologue

**Welcome to Book Two of The Silver Crescents Trilogy. Please read and leave a review.**

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**Royal Tribes: Greenpact tribes that have special abilities and jobs.**

**Raw Tooth \- Hunting (Soul Collecting)**

**Clavente – Home Singing (Magical Prowess)**

**Parikh – Warriors**

**Red Moss (Rovseed) – Chroniclers (Memory Banking)**

**Silver Crescents – The new Thieves' Guild of Valenwood**

**Leucrota – A group of powerful rogues**

**Rovseed – The last remaining survivors of the Red Moss**

**Boghadians – A Wood Orc mercenary clan**

**Iron-Scales – An Argonian bandit clan**

**Tam'Akar (Dawn Dragons) – An elite force of Thalmor inquisitors**

**Pondus – A sword once wielded by the Camoran Usurper but now owned by Milkar Lockharte. Its power allows him to teleport seamlessly to any area in his vision.**

**Nocturnal's Talon – First named Twilight Talon, but now transformed. Can draw on the _Ghost Flame _power or Leila's own power, the _Shadow Flame_.**

**Goldfire – A sword of pure gold created by Augoth Thornbush for Monsotar Handseed to counter the _Ghost Flame_.**

**Spell Thorn – One of three legendary swords own by King Eplear Camoran. Now wielded by Elren**

**Lord Nethilvere – The Tam'Akar's Grand Inquisitor**

**Seruniil \- Second-in-command of the Tam'Akar. High Inquisitor that controls Earth destruction magic. Sister to Florentine**

**Arvancano – A Tam'Akar Inquisitor and prodigal student of Aridiil the Nefarious**

**Seedale Fort-Grazer – A half Bosmer, half Altmer battlemage that was once a part of the Ranger Guard. He defeated all eleven Elder Guard at once after betraying them and disappeared. He resurfaces as one of the Tam'Akar's inquisitors**

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Stolen Vengeance

Prologue

These Wood Orcs were mere berserkers. Just a bunch of blundering fools easily molded to ideologies they knew nothing about.

The assassin stood on a ledge overlooking the ensuing carnage. They killed without mercy or remorse. Only a few well-placed words to hang them on his side. He did good work. Heated winds ruffled his dark robes. Wild Bosmer cried out their pleas, they fought, but they were too weak despite being a Royal Tribe of warriors. He wouldn't have the wood orcs kill all of them, just most to get his point across.

There was no other way.

Flames engulfed their village, and their homes burned to the ground. Everything that made the Parikh who they were was gone. A job well done.

'You… you did this, didn't you?'

The assassin spun on a heel to see an older member of the clan limping towards him. Their eyes met. Both shouldered a potent hatred. The elf held a distinct structure and demeanor of the body of an old warrior but wore the garments of a priest. A shaman, the assassin thought.

The assassin parted the ends of his robes, revealing a golden sword which earned widened eyes of shock.

'You! No…you're dead!' He cried out.

'Dead?' The assassin inquired, wearing a sinister smile. 'You've confused me with someone else, Shaman.'

Although the wild Bosmer was wounded and bleeding, he could feel no remorse for him. He aligned himself with the squalor of Valenwood. Those that threaten its structure of law and culture. He needed him to die to send the world a message.

Being a priest of a warrior clan, he too knew battle. Even in his current state, he won't take the shaman lightly. The Shaman charged, but such a weak advance wouldn't win any fight. The assassin stepped to the side allowing the shaman to trip over his own feet. Pathetic.

'Why us?' He asked in Bosmeris.

'When a tree burns another one grows in its place. That is the circle of life. I shall cleanse these lands. And from the ashes, a new Valenwood will rise.'

The shaman spat blood. 'You'll pay for what you've done!'

Another robed Bosmer approached. Taller, older, much more confident in his evil; and wearing the same robes. 'It's unlike you to play with your food, nephew.' He withdrew a straight sword. The black metal gleamed in the firelight. It pulsed red down the fuller like a throbbing heart, hungry.

'There's no reason to kill this one. His death will serve no purpose.'

The second assassin plunged his sword deep in the shaman's flesh. The priest gurgled and squirmed as his body fell limp. His skin began to crumble, blood streamed from his body and into the blade of the assassin's black sword. The youngest watched as his uncle smiled through the murder.

The assassin wielding his black sword raised a brow and sighed. 'Are you sure this will lure her out?'

The youngest of the two Bosmer closed his eyes and turned back to the burning village. The Wood Orcs had done their job and were retreating into the forest. Their dark silhouettes fell back one by one, trickling through the trees. 'The Black Raven is diligent in her duty. She won't allow something like this to go unfollowed. She'll go after the Wood Orcs first, and their entire alliance will break apart.'

'Divided, they will be easy to conquer. I like it.' The second assassin spat onto what was left of the Parikh.

The younger assassin withdrew his golden sword and examined it. 'Through the ashes, Valenwood will know true peace. And I will steal back the vengeance I deserve.'


	2. Divided We Fall

_The world is all about pushing you towards the edge where you can't see the bottomless pit that awaits you._

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Chapter 1: Divided We Fall

When fires blaze through the trees of Valenwood, it creates a white blotch of a wide radius. The phenomena are known as a white forest. Forest fires were nothing new. Often, entire tribes of Greenpact Bosmer are nearly destroyed because of it. But this was no natural fire. Swinging vine to vine and hopping from bough to bough, I traveled through the forest at high speeds. Landing on a branch of a tree overlooking the village, I saw the carnage that was wrought on the Parikh's territory. It took three days before I could arrive, but the village still smoldered in several dozen piles of ash.

The dense forest of southern Grahtwood would grow anew in time. There was nothing left of the village that wasn't charred by flame. Snugpods smoldered like hot coals. Large pits opened where the soil cracked and fissured. Bodies so ashen, crumbled at the touch of a breeze.

A deliberate attack on one of the Royal Tribes was not just a high crime of hierarchy of Valenwood, but an attack on one of the assets of the Silver Crescents. It will not go unpunished. I won't let it.

I ground my teeth as I passed by burned bodies of the Parikh tribe. Despite their aggression towards outsiders, they often just wanted to be left alone. Someone hunted them. The only twisted fucks that would do this were those blasted Altmer of the Tam'Akar. With their increased presence in recent years, this couldn't have been a coincidence. But they haven't purged in twenty years, why now?

'Raven, look at this.'

I turned to see Orc sifting through a piled of ash. A snugpod of medium size, someone's home, and the occupants were still inside. I closed the gap, and Orc lifted something in his palm.

Orc blew ash from the object and pressed on my palm. The greenish metal was sharp and crude. 'A dagger?' I asked, examining the weapon.

'Not just any,' Orc said. 'It's orichalcum. But look at its styling.'

I balanced the orichalcum dagger in my hand. Despite its crude metal, it was perfectly forged. 'Boghadian.'

Orc frowned in that ugly way that he does. 'I fear that—'

'Why would the Boghadians break the treaty with the Crescents? It doesn't make any sense.' I barked.

Orc shrugged. 'It doesn't but… here it is.'

I tucked the dagger blade first under my belt. 'Search everywhere and bring back what you find.'

Orc nodded. 'You got it, boss.'

If the Boghadians attacked the Parikh, then that meant they've broken the Treaty of Clean Hands all underground organizations held with the Silver Crescents. Such a thing could spell the destruction of their clan. Their outrage made sense. The Boghadians were the descendants of Bo'Ghadar the Hammer, a hero of the Circle of Seven. They were good friends with my brother once until an incident that left some bitter taste on tongues some time ago. Attacking innocents, however, was crossing a line I don't think they would want to cross.

I watched the Leucrota search through the destruction. My head was swimming. Twenty years had come and gone, and Valenwood's underworld has seen two decades of relative peace with Milkar at its helm. Why change now? What could have provoked them?

The Boghadians were a large enough force to meet the challenge of Silver Crescents; however, it was the Leucrota's job to ensure something like that was to never come to pass. A large part of the cooperation among these bands was in part of my hand in ensuring no one steps out of line. Since the days of Monsotar, all bands, mercenaries, and would-be rogue guilds fell in line one by one because they felt the same way we did. Those that didn't meet the swift enforcement of my revolutionaries. No other province in Tamriel has seen this sort of cooperation among their underground organizations. My dream come true. Or so I thought. To see it crumble like this was heartbreaking.

The Treaty of Clean Hands was to have a force large enough to fight off the Tam'Akar when they've decided to purge again. I couldn't help to speculate that they were behind this.

'Raven, up here.'

I swiveled my head towards a ridge overlooking the village where Larethia was beckoning me to follow. When I reached, the Leucrota had surrounded a single body or, at least, what was left of one. 'What's that?' I asked as I approached cautiously.

'It's Shaman Dirinner.' Larethia tightened her lips into a thin line. 'Or whatever is left of him.'

A red mass and white bone sat in a pile. It looked as if something had drained the innards of the Greenpact priest, leaving nothing more than skin and a skeleton. I remembered the old Shaman from long ago when my enslavement under Monsotar had reached its peak. I did a lot of horrible things back then, even going as far as burning down a village that protected the Parikh. But this… I've never seen anything so horrific.

'It could've been magic,' Grim said, bending over to take a small whiff.

'What else could it have been?' Orc turned and spat on the ground.

Insects had already gone to work on the body, and it looked as if scavengers came through as well. I closed my eyes and shuddered. 'Did you find anything else?'

Orc fetched a few orichalcum arrows from his pack and displayed them to me. 'There's no doubt the Boghadians attacked them. It also seems that there were survivors, but they might've escaped and deemed it too dangerous to return.'

I nodded and turned to Larethia. 'Send a raven to Shimmer Root. The Rovseed can locate the survivors and give them some sanctuary.'

Grim scoffed. 'And what will we do? I find this whole thing depressing, but we're not supposed to be policing this shit.'

I ground my teeth. 'If my brother gets involved, then he'll want to march on the Boghadians himself. I can solve this by speaking to one person.'

'Fine,' Grim grumbled. 'But the Boghadians are a bunch of stubborn Wood Orcs. Their more in tuned with their warring cousins from up north than they are with the real Wood Orcs down here. If it goes downhill, then it will be five hundred orcs versus us three.'

'I'll go at it alone,' I told them. 'But I need you all on standby in case it does. Bo'Ghadak is the Boghadian's new chief, and he's far more reasonable than their father.'

'Apparently, he's just as violent.' Larethia shook her head.

'There has got to be a reason they did this,' I said. 'And I'm going to find out.'

The Leucrota shrugged. I told them to bury the bodies. In the Greenpact ways, those who die needed to be consumed within three days. However, any survivors from the clan had long fled. The only option was to bury them so that they may become nourishment for the forest. Even if the Boghadians attacked them and nearly destroyed their entire tribe, their customs were strong, and they didn't steer away from them. Something other than a bunch of mercenary orcs scared them off.

Only ash remained. A cemetery for the lost. How many people have died and fed these lands with their flesh and bone? Suffering like this was as old as Nirn itself.

My cloak fluttered in the afternoon breeze making the trees hiss and creak, easing my nerves. I sighed softly.

Larethia stalked beside me and shared in my dismay. 'You could summon Meril to your side, Leila.' Larethia often used my real name when we were alone. With our bond strengthening over the past two decades, she's become a confidante, a friend, a sister. I looked at her face. She never really had color. Her vibrant greens were always serious. She was fit, knotted with lithe muscle with long hair covering her shoulders.

Any one of them would be enough to bring along with me to the Boghadian stronghold. Training under Tutor Rollyn fir five years honed their fighting skill and perfected their craft. Even so, it would be best if I carried out this job alone.

'It's not necessary,' I said. 'We don't need to strong-arm them. All who signed the Treaty of Clean Hands were victims of the Thieves of the Wood and the Tam'Akar. We wouldn't be any better if we were to beat them into submission.'

Larethia looked at me. 'And if they turned tail?' She asked.

'It had to be deeper than that. It's one thing to let their alliance deteriorate, but to attack a tribe of Bosmer that had nothing to do with their quarrels with the Silver Crescents?' I shook my head solemnly. 'There's more.'

Larethia shrugged. 'So be it.'

The Nightblade had always been a good friend to me. She was loyal and always understood what was in my heart. Ever since our time under Monsotar, she trusted my instincts and never second-guessed our role here. It was the same for all of them. We came about with a rough start, but we burst through despair together and worked for a better future for Valenwood.

We all came from a dark period. The role of a rogue was to bend and shape destiny to our whim when the divines told us we couldn't. This was the world we lived in. When we are told "this," we do "that." When my Leucrota, Silver Crescents, and all the bands that have given their word to save the soul of this province come together, we moved mountains. Now we needed to maintain that strength.

Together we were gods in our own right. But when we become divided, everything falls apart, and we all will perish.


	3. Black Feathers

_Show me your true feelings. That fear, suspicion, resentment, and hatred; show it to me. _

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Chapter 2: Black Feathers

The beginning of the wet season brought a thick fog over the forest. The night was muggy, and the air hung heavy and moist. I could barely see past my own hands. However, the forest spared ample light from its bioluminescent ecology. The Boghadian stronghold sat nestled between two minor Graht-Oaks that found their home in the shadow of Falinesti. Although home to hundreds of Graht-Oaks, the Wood Orc mercenaries were the only clan to live in the grove where the Father Tree anchored itself. For a dozen miles, through the veil of mist, the light of the forest left hues of faint green, pinks, and blues across the garden.

This situation was the utmost delicate. A matter of diplomacy lingered, but I knew the Boghadians cared nothing for diplomacy. Every band under the Treaty of Clean Hands was at odds with the Boghadians for some years when their old chief, Bo'Ghadar the Mad, son of Bo'Ghadar The Hammer, had reaped the drums of war against anyone who he deemed a challenge. It was maddening to believe that a child of one of the Circle of Seven turned out to be such a monster, but his three sons garnered the help of the Crescents to end their father's reign of terror over the clan. It seems Bo'Ghadar's oldest son, Bo'Ghadak had gone mad as well.

Their stronghold held boughs thicker than five dozen Orcs standing shoulder to shoulder and was as long as roads with high vantage points for walls. Several large and small snug pods dotted the compound with a single enormous snug pod serving as their longhouse. These Wood Orcs matched the culture of their Orsinium cousins, and their business with the nature of Valenwood stemmed only as far as their homes. They were what many would call brawlers. Very powerful mercenaries that took money to take down the enemies of whoever was paying well enough. An intelligent and reasonable people, however cunning and dangerous all the same.

I made it to their foregates. A mass of twisted vine and branch that towered upward of twenty meters. Two Boghadian guards stood at the top, bows in hand. They watched me approach with some suspicion, but rather than holding me up as some intruder, they nodded with an air of acquiescence. I waved at them, and they glanced at each other before giving the signal to open their gates.

The boughs and knots of vine that acted as their gates folded away and vine slithered in withdrawal opening into their stronghold. I paced forward and scanned my surroundings. The pounding of metal from their forges resounded throughout the compound. Children wrestled and fought each other in bed-nests of dried, crumpled leaves often found at the bottom of the forest floor. Rotting flesh and curdled milk left long out to spoil left an acute stench in the air.

The Wood Orcs nearest to witness my arrival all stopped their doings and stared daggers into my skull. I felt the anxiety of their unwelcome. Two more guards paced on my flanks. One beckoned me to follow without uttering a word, and they both led me towards the single most giant pod where the chief and his cohorts lived. I knew the way from previous visits, but it was in my best interest to pretend this was my first time here. Two sconces of glowing Aetherio Blooms lit the front entrance to the chief's home, which held a massive leaf-veil as its entrance. One of the Boghadian guards strode over towards the leaf-veil and pushed on the fleshy node at the side. The leaf-veil pulled back, revealing the chamber within.

I stepped inside the dim-lit room. Brightly luminescent Soul Grass was planted in sling vases along the walls, and a grand chandelier of more Aetherio Bloom hung from the ceiling. Smaller flora sat in pots across a long, curved dinner table. Many of the Boghadian clan's fiercest warriors stood on either side of the longhouse locked in hushed conversations, putting whetstone to axes and blades, or simply lounging around enjoying the comfort of their chieftain's home. Every last one had rippling muscles and tanned green skin. Their black and brown pupils found my small, lithe frame, and they grinned over their protruding tusks as they sized me up. Chief Bo'Ghadak sat at the helm of the table behind a roasted boar nestled on a large plate. A striated orichalcum knife was stuck between the ribs.

'Sorry for disturbing your supper,' I said, taking the seat directly across from Bo'Ghadak.

'The Black Raven.' His voice was deep and thick with a grating accent. Bo'Ghadak ceased his late dinner and sucked on a piece of gristle between his teeth. 'What brings you here to my stronghold?'

I folded my arms and tilted back on the chair. The few Wood Orcs that took an interest in me started to watch my every move more intently. I didn't like the energy they were giving off. There was an intensity in the room. I had no doubts these Wood Orcs were mighty. The smart thing to do was to keep my wits about me and keep steadfast. This meeting going the way I planned would take nothing short of a miracle. I didn't do miracles.

'You know I'm not one to beat around the bush or run with wordplay,' I said, looking into the orc's black and brown eyes. 'So, I'm just going to come right out and ask.' Bo'Ghadak's angled features were sharp enough to cut a blood orange. His tan-colored skin held a railroad of scars from a full life of battle. A rigid brow over casting a pair of deep-set eyes rose incredulously. 'Did you attack the Parikh Royal Tribe?'

Silence cut through the longhouse as many of his cohorts stopped what kept them occupied as if the very question had stabbed their honor personally. If it wasn't tense before, it definitely was now. I hadn't a care in the world. Bo'Ghadak knew my name, and he knew what I was about. The Boghadian chieftain dropped the slab of meat he was just about to place in his mouth and ran his tongue around one of his tusks protruding from his bottom jaw.

'Some time ago,' he began, his voice was like boulders slamming into each other, 'the Boghadians prospered and felt a prestige no other Wood Orc clan knew. But then the Dominion unleashed their rule over this province, a rule that threatens my people and our livelihoods. You say that your little treaty is to help oppose such oppression by changing what it meant to be a rogue organization. That we must protect the province where your treethanes have failed. As a chieftain, I no longer believe we can.'

I narrowed my eyes and sat forward. 'What are you saying, Bo'Ghadak? The Dominion will not tolerate mercenary clans in the province. Have you not experienced peace since signing the treaty?'

'My clan suffers deterioration,' he said.

'You must trust in Milkar and the Silver Crescents.' I balled my hands into a fist.

Bo'Ghadak's jaw visibly tightened. 'The Black Raven of Shimmer Root. I thought it was your job to hold anyone accountable that threatened the cohesion of this alliance of rogues. But it finally seems to me that you're nothing but a dog for Milkar's agenda.'

I shook my head. 'Bo'Ghadak, please. How could you have betrayed us when we helped you defeat your father?'

I haven't seen Milkar in the twenty years after I destroyed the Thieves of the Wood and ended Monsotar in his own Graht-Oak. The Leucrota have been operating on our own, but our duty was still to ensure my revolution, and the head I put on the helm, followed that dream.

'We no longer need you, _elf_,' he spat.

I glanced around the longhouse. Slowly, I dragged my hand towards the hilt of the Orichalcum dagger left at the destruction of the Parikh. 'What do you mean?'

Bo'Ghadak rose from his seat, and the others went for their weapons. 'Your brother's sanctions on my clan will destroy us. We have suffered. Unable to choose our clients, choose the jobs to complete. There's only so much a clan such as mine can do restricted to only escorts and guarding. We are mercenaries, not praetors.'

I pinched the bridge of my nose and sighed heavily. 'You are refusing to see reason.' Over the years, there were far too many bands that have decided that they wanted to ravage how they saw fit. It put everyone in danger. What mattered in these times was what the people saw of us. Were we protectors, or were we criminals needing to be destroyed? The stress was becoming overwhelming. But it was my own burden. It was the reason I traveled here.

'You threatened all that I have sacrificed to achieve,' I told him. 'You deliberately attacked a Royal Tribe all because you have a quarrel with my brother?'

Bo'Ghadak smiled, something truly sinister. 'No. You see… I have a new client. And it is what they wanted.'

I clicked my teeth and drew forth the Boghadian dagger the Leucrota found in the Parikh village. Bo'Ghadak ceased his smile. I whipped it through my fingers and threw it at his boar roast. It ripped clean into the meat down to the hilt. The act was a sign that there would be no more talking.

Every orc in the longhouse came at me with their weapons drawn. The first orc reached me, swinging his sword in a powerful arch. I tipped the chair backward and flipped onto my hands, jumping into the air. The orc's sword struck down into the wood of the table, cutting cleanly through.

Four Wood Orcs surrounded me. They came all at once, hoping to end the fight quickly. I dropped under the swing of an ax, leaped away from a mace, and grappled with a third attacker. She grunted as I pulled her close, pressing our bodies together, and subduing any chance she had at countering. She cocked her head to head-butt me in the face, but I managed to step aside and grab her shoulder with my right hand, snaking my arm around hers and twisting the joint right out of its socket. Despite the immense amount of pain it must have caused, the female wood orc didn't make a sound. She thrashed; however, her efforts only propelled her into the others.

They were tough warriors. And if I didn't come up with a better plan than fighting them like this, I was going to die.

A powerful aura radiated from Bo'Ghadak. He was tall and thick armed, barrel-chested, and wore orichalcum laced yak leather. The plant-light gleamed off his bald head except for a single ponytail running the length of his back. He cracked his thick neck one way then the other. He pulled a giant cleaver off his back that looked as if it was impossible to wield even for a giant. He swung it around with ease. Three orcs that weren't yet trying to kill me stood at Bo'Ghadak's side. They were going to try a team effort.

I sucked in air, unleashing a flurry of punches into the oncoming onslaught of Boghadians. My knuckles and wrist throbbed from pounding their thick leathery skin and brick-like muscles. I swung around one of them, leaping and kicking him in his exposed neck. The orc grunted. As more came at me with their heavy weapons swinging, I dodged around nimbly in a dance to escape. Too slow, one of them grabbed my cloak and flung me towards a wall. My back slammed against the bark. The air exploding from my lungs was audible. I slid a knee. No time to recuperate. Another Boghadian smashed the wall behind me with a power hammer. Debris shattered in all directions. With the rest of my strength that was quickly waning, I skittered across the floor towards Bo'Ghadak. The chieftain orc brought his cleaver down, causing fissures to break apart the ground. I pushed off all fours and twisted my body in the air, whipping out a throwing knife. As I tossed it to level with our eyes, I slammed my foot on its pommel, it stuck into the hand of an attack guard. He curdled away for just a moment before pulling the blade free.

I landed with all of Bo'Ghadak's entourage surrounding me. The chief's eyes and mine met.

'This is your last chance before I go,' I said. 'Next time I return, it will be to replace you as chieftain.'

Anger bubbled between Bo'Ghadak's eyes. All of them, all at once, swung their hammers, maces, and axes. I closed my eyes and drew on my legendary sword's enchantment. It's been almost a year since I needed to use the Nocturnal's Talon. I opened my eyes and felt the power reverberate through my body. The _Ghost Flame_ slithered out from the sword on my back and encased me in a _ward_ of violet-colored flames. Their weapons careened into it, lifted me up, sent me flying through the wall of the longhouse. I flew through the air along with the front half of the pod. I managed to skid to a halt, splinters of wood raining down around me. _Ghost Flame _burned everything to thick ash faster than any normal fire.

Shadows against the contrast of flame began pouring out of the destroyed longhouse. Other Boghadians walked with them.

It was me against the entire clan.

They hesitated their advance, knowing full well what my flames were capable of doing to them. Even if it was one against hundreds. They've heard the stories of my black feathers; my mastery of the _Ghost Flame_; they knew how deadly I can be.

I straightened up.

'I'm sorry it had to be this way, Bo'Ghadak.' I reached into my pocket and slipped a small, marble-sized ball onto my hand. It swirled with deep, condensed magicka. Unlike scrolls that held a destruction spell, magicae balls can cast powerful spells of any of the schools of magic. This one was my ticket to escaping.

The Boghadians began to back away as strange winds whirlwind through their stronghold. I squeezed the magicae ball, and it exploded in a maelstrom of typhoons like winds and black feathers. The feathers swirled around me as if an unkindness of ravens were caught in a small tornado. The surrounding wood orcs were tossed aside like rag dolls under pressure. None could reach me.

Bo'Ghadak eyed me with furious disdain. For him, it would have been honorable to stand and fight until one of us perished. I wasn't here to kill, I was here to warn them of what the consequences were for their treasonable actions. I downed their clan and showed them what one can do. They've not only decided to burn their signature from the treaty but that they stand in the way of peace in Valenwood. They threatened it. I will not allow them to do so.

My hands began to peel away, turning into stark black, finger length feathers. The magicae ball's power was a mix between illusion and alteration magic and only used for a quick escape. As my limbs became a cloud of feathers, I narrowed my eyes as they met the chieftain. 'I do hope in the future, you will not be on the wrong side of this fight, Bo'Ghadak.' And with those final words, my body became the storm of black before them. The spell lifted me up in the air and carried me out of their stronghold.

Some ways away, I landed on a nearby bough. The feathers that were my body recombined as the magicae ball wore off. From here, the stronghold scrambled around like little ants that just got their hill trampled. This was worse than I expected. If others saw that the Boghadians turned against us, then what was stopping them?

In the political hierarchy of Valenwood, it was not much better. Treethanes either gave in to the lies that were fed to them by the Thalmor or took advantage of the partisan laws that left their pockets fat and their bellies fatter. Yet, my father stood by to watch them destroy the very culture that made Valenwood our home. The only chance we had at preserving our home was the people that worked outside of the laws of this new society. The rogues. This is why I needed to believe in my brothers and the Silver Crescents. I needed to believe my revolution.


	4. Life of the Scorned

_The warrior carries his honor; the mage is mystical and remarkable, but the rogue will always be abhorred_

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Chapter 3: Life Of The Scorned

It was a week's trek back to the Drowned Coast by tree route. I found the quieter villages in the far reaches of Valenwood to be a bit more welcoming to a highly wanted terrorist like me. It didn't matter what they called me: a deserter of the Ranger Guard, a terrorist, a thief, a shame of the province, the truth of it all was that I kept the evil bands at bay and the good ones in power. I once wanted to strike my name from history, and I still do, but before my path comes to an end, the people will know the good that organizations like the Silver Crescents can do.

The swamp smelled of rotting vegetation. Deadly aromas wafted through the air, but the people here managed to call this place home. The Drown Coast itself was a massive swamp on the south-western region of Valenwood. Few small towns and villages dotted the subsequent swamp and ravines from a catastrophic event in the Merethic times. For now, Weialin had become my home.

Over the past two decades, since my legendary battle with Monsotar Handseed, I've become nothing more than a fugitive in the eyes of the law. Remote towns like this provided the much-needed cover to live my life. With the increase in Thalmor and their inquisition force, the Tam'Akar, the need to bounce around, had become more present.

The village was no more than a few sturdy clay buildings and a spread of quickly sprouted snugpods for its residents, mostly nestled in the shadow of a ridgeline. The forest trees were thick in the swamps, leaving no sunlight filtering through the canopy, garnering most of its light from the abundance of bio-luminescent flora that either sparkled brightly or hummed a soft glow from its radiant gift of Y'ffre's lifeblood. Rotted trees and roots covered in a millennium of soil had grown entire environments of their own, making the swamp a slime-covered underworld segregated from civilization. Waterways crisscrossed the forest floor where amphibious creatures made home, and mammals fell prey to reptiles with sharp teeth and quick jaws. Most of the residents here were Bosmer, of course, but it was still home to an assemblage of all races. Some Dunmer, a considerably large family of Argonians, and some humans speckled in and about making the village surprisingly diverse. It's been my stay for the sum of three years.

I came upon one of the clay molded buildings, probably one of the biggest and more popular of the establishments in the village. A tavern by the name of Light Flower's Stink. Some of the citizens passed by me with suspicious glances. Nothing I wasn't used to. My black leather armor, tattered winged cloak, several gleaming weapons, and an overall vagabondish appearance would do that. People feared what they didn't know, and I kept a much-needed distance from ordinary civilians. The people of this village knew me as a simple woman living a simple life on the outskirts of the swamp. Coupled with the fact almost everyone carried a knife, bow, or some sort of blade to protect themselves, the truth of my occupation went unnoticed.

I entered the tavern and was hit with the warmth of flaring firestone. In Valenwood, tradition dictated that we use other means of heat and light besides fire. The stones react to water and start to burn as if they were doused in a furnace. Wafts of honey and sweet wine mixed in the thick atmosphere of grilled meat and spiced drink. The villagers here were quiet folk, so there wasn't much music or dancing like you'll see in public houses and corner clubs of the big cities. It created the right amount of relaxation a woman like me could enjoy.

Despite the late hour, few people sat in the booths across the tavern. For me, the person I came here to meet sat at a small table towards the corner. A dark hood covered her face, her armor netted her scaly skin with more scales of the Scylene Python of her home province. When tanned, the skin can become a hard leather that can stop a tempered sword in its tracks. Coupled with silver links, it was almost as good as my own blacks. I found my seat across from her. She sniffed the air with her snout and licked her jowls with that slithering tongue of hers. I laughed. She looked up at me with slotted pupils, grinning.

'You're late,' she said with that thick attractive accent of hers.

'Got caught up,' I told her with a shrug.

She stuck a scaled finger in her clay mug and dragged her elongated nail across the bottom before taking it out and licking the liquid from her wet finger. 'And?' She inquired expectedly.

'It's just as we feared.' I sighed deeply and leaned my face onto my hands. 'The Boghadians targeted the Parikh.'

Anlanixea hissed her disapproval. 'The Iron-Scales wait patiently for your word, Leila. My egg-brothers are missing, and you're the only chance of finding answers.'

'Well, I found it, but we can't do anything about it yet until we know fully what we're up against.'

'You dry my scales, Raven,' she said distantly. 'Perhaps consulting your brother will work in favor of your wild dogs, don't you think?'

'This is my burden, Anlanixea. You were once apart of the Leucrota.' I jabbed a finger onto the surface of the table, hoping to hammer my point. 'You know how it is.'

Anlanixea clicked her claws together in contemplation. 'What do you fight for any longer? Is it to mold to your brother's whim, or ensure what's right to stay right.'

I sat back in my chair and remembered what it was like to have my very reason to live challenged. That was Anlanixea. As far as making me doubt the entire path that I've chosen, she was the best at it. Never blindly following and always concerned that I make the right move for the right situation. For something as delicate as this, I needed far more information than what I had. The Boghadians are an enigma. Their anger stems from internal fighting amongst their chiefdom.

Some years ago, when the Silver Crescents approached them intending to create a unified force against the Tam'Akar, their previous chief didn't entirely take it so well. It was to be expected. The chief was Bo'Ghadar, son of Bo'Ghadar The Hammer. The very Bo'Ghadar the Hammer that was apart of Mother's Circle of Seven. Subsequently, Bo'Ghadar The Hammer was defeated in battle by his… far more mentally unstable son at the ripe age of one hundred and eight and replaced. Let's just say his son inherited all of his father's strength and power but none of his shining personality, leading a rampage across Valenwood after Monsotar was defeated. Luckily for us, Bo'Ghadar The Mad fathered three sons who saw the error in their father's ways and ended him before any permanent damage was wrought. Still, with the capacity of laying waste to the majority of rogues across Valenwood, it only made sense that my brother limited the power that the orc clan possessed, keeping to simple chaperone and security jobs instead of the usual assault and offensive fighting they loved.

Anlanixea joined the Leucrota a decade after the battle of Centaurcrass. By then, our name and reputation had caused a rift through the underground world so much so, that if one were to hear it, they would retreat before we even arrived. Many thought it unfair that such a new guild of rogues to have become so powerful in the short amount of time that it did, they decided to revolt. Two years of rounding up murderous thieves and bandits stretched the Leucrota thin, so we recruited the best of the best across the land. Anlanixea led her own band of strong Argonian dealsmen, but her dedication to the Leucrota never faltered until she felt our path had become clouded. We've remained strong allies and close friends.

'Some punishment is in order. Or at least there should be. I shake my head at your reluctance.'

'Of course, however, pending investigation,' I explained.

'Investigation?' She narrowed her eyes. 'They attacked you when you questioned them. That I point to first. That's more than enough to handle them accordingly. Their pattern of attack seems to target those who have close connections to the Silver Crescents. I whip my tail to fight, it's hard to just talk.'

I wrapped my knuckles on the table. 'We can both agree that Milker's agenda hasn't been in favor of the rogue lifestyle. Not every pickpocket and cutpurse wants that.'

Anlanixea hissed her disapproval. 'It keeps the honor in the trade. If a thief were to, say, kill his mark, then the Ranger Guard's eyes might be laid on the Silver Crescents.' She waved her hands dramatically.

I shrugged. 'It's the nature of it all that's at risk,' I said. 'You can rob an entire village, but you can't take more than what you need or kill any of its occupants. Fine lines are created. I'm not defending the Boghadians, but they're mercs through and through. It's our job to make sure Milkar doesn't become—'

'You say your own brother would use his power to strain the rogues of Valenwood to become his own personal army of criminals?'

'I'm saying that power can corrupt. I need to be the medium between it all. That's what I have always used the Leucrota for. I'm the contingency. If the Boghadians are acting out, I cannot flatten them unless I know the full story. And I believe there is something big. Wasn't it yourself that informed me of the increase of Tam'Akar ships coming from over the Blue Divide? It's just all too coincidental. To involve Milkar would be to betray the promise I gave this world. And you know his truth.'

Anlan nodded and finally sat back. She sighed a hiss. Yet relaxed, she pulled her thick hood from over her spiny head. Three tawny feathers poked up. 'I prod my head. You still believe him to be an orchestrator?'

I slapped the table. 'Admitted it himself, but I believe Milkar won't touch him as long as I have a say.'

Anlanixea smiled and clicked her nail against her snout before finally agreeing. 'Fine… We drink for now. Work tomorrow.'

We were served our drinks in two full mugs set in front of us. Anlanixea ordered an Argonian ale that smelled of animal ass, and I order my favorite, a northern honey mead that didn't quite taste authentic but still was the freshest you could find out here in the swampland of the Drowned Coast. We spent almost two hours talking about our past jobs and the fun we had in the previous decades. I never fully knew why Anlanixea decided the Leucrota wasn't for her. She was the best at what she did, and we did a lot. Although it was good to let go and have a good time, something awful grew in my gut. An undying feeling of dread for what's to come in the upcoming days. I tried to bury it with alcohol for the night, but somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew that my strength would be once more tested.

When our drinking slowed, and our conversations became slurred variations of words strung together, we finally called it a night. Anlanixea stood up, straightened her tail for extra balance under the influence. 'It is a day's journey back home,' she said, giving her arms and legs a much need stretch. 'Business needs to continue, and preparations to search for my egg-brothers are at hand.'

I nodded in agreement. I placed four golden septims down on the table and stretched a balled fist towards Anlanixea. She matched it with one of her own. 'Revisit me some time soon, friend.'

Anlanixea revealed a row of barbed teeth as she made for the door. I have built the Leucrota around a strong bond between each member. It's how we've grown so strong when we all fought together. With each member holding a strong loyalty towards each other and determination to our core mission, we placated the peace that I've sought since the founding of the Silver Crescents.

In the first five years that followed the Battle of Centaurcrass, the Leucrota trained under Tutor Rollyn. We honed our skills to a razor-sharp point, learning new styles of fighting, more history of Valenwood, and the rest of Tamriel. We kept each other alive while keeping the tribal traditions of our home thriving. While scorning us, the people saw the truth behind the rise of the Silver Crescents. They were different from Monsotar's diabolical plan to force cooperation and instead taught them that, although criminal in nature, we could become a force for good instead of malevolence.

I stayed in the tavern a little while longer, roving over the recent events. One may not see a difference between my mother and I, on the other hand, our oaths were utterly different. We both protected Valenwood from its threats, but we lived on two opposite sides of a spectrum. During the Oblivion Crisis, your allies were your allies, and your enemies were your enemies. The lines are blurred for me. My allies aren't my allies but rather an astringent design that I needed to play big sister for.

My time came two hours later for me to leave. The night had grown long, and sleep grasped at me. Outside in the humid swamp, the forest was alive with the croak and creek of night. The air smelled of rotting vegetation mixed with the soup of stagnated waters. My feet squished down into damped soil as I made my way down a ravine swallowed by muck. My home was a shallow hollowed husk along the outskirts of Weialin. I approached slowly, careful not to trigger the many spring powered traps I laid about the ground.

This was my world, a world that I subsequently created with the path that I have chosen. When home came into view, I stopped in my tracks. Something was wrong, something _felt_ wrong. I narrowed my eyes and took a whiff of the air. Through the acrid gurgle of rotted swamp soup, there was a hint of something else. With a hand drifting to my Osseinium dagger, I scanned the area but saw nothing amiss. Then it hit me. That smell grew stronger, and I knew it for what it was: the tang of rotted milk.

The hairs on the back of my neck rose. The faintest difference in the music of the forest. One small break of a twig, the wind passing in the wrong direction. I ducked as fast as my body allowed me. My body slapped the wet mud; an ax ripped through the air flying end over end. I turned quickly to see a towering behemoth looking down from a low hanging branch.

'Hello,' the wood orc said, leaping down from his perch. 'My name is Bo'Ghadar Thriceson. I hear you're strong.'


	5. Bo'Ghadar Thriceson

_The lives we rogues have chosen to live was formed from the bleakness of the destiny chosen for us._

* * *

Chapter 4: Bo'Ghadar Thriceson

The Wood Orc came at me brandishing a second war ax. His speed wasn't uncommon for a wood orc of his size, but I was careful not to underestimate it. For Wood Orcs, their life in the forest brought them the mobility not seen in their Orsinium cousins.

I flicked my dagger up between the ax's blade and hilt, faltering the orc's attack. He reached up to grab my neck, but I managed to slip between his legs and glide up behind him. He kicked me back with a powerful thrust of his foot, countering a killing strike. I managed at least a small slice across his backplate and skidded to a halt on the slippery ground. His charged put a pause on my heavy-beating heart. Anyone who has seen my _Ghost Flame's_ power has never challenged it with such ferocity as the Boghadians. I doubted it was ignorance that fueled his charge towards a force that could turn him into ash in mere seconds. These wood orcs did not have the concept we called fear.

His nostrils flared, and as he grew close, I could read his eyes—a demeanor of will. This challenge wasn't just any, but a test of strength. He swung the ax across my torso, threatening to cut me clean in two. I bent back at the hip, watching the sheen of the blade come far too close to slicing my nose. With a quick and aggressive swing down, I manage to leverage the _Ghost Flame's _power to carry my body away from the orc.

Despite the aggression in his attacks, Bo'Ghadar's intent to kill went mostly absent, which put me at an impasse. The Boghadians were misinformed or perhaps even forced on their chaotic trajectory. Someone was fooling them. If I delivered a killing blow, then it would solidify that I am their enemy. It's not something I wanted. The ground was too soft to push off for a good counter as he rounded on me with yet another violet swing. His strikes seemed all too easy to parry or dodge.

Fine. I would play his game.

I stomped forward with Nocturnal's Talon held straight out away from my body. Bo'Ghadar skittishly knocked my blade upward, almost as if he flinched. I smiled. I swung, and our weapons clashed in an array of nearly too fast strikes. A chorus of clanks and rings resounded throughout the swamp, cutting clear the silent music of the night.

Sending just the slight amount of power to my sword, I charged in to meet his. When our weapons clashed, an emergence of pure harrowing power tore us apart, spewing us outward in opposite directions. The orc used his strength to keep himself from being thrown too far, jabbing his heels in the mud leaving fierce grooves in his wake. I managed to somersault through the air, dispelling the excess energy, and landing on my feet.

We weathered the storm of power threatening to blow us further apart, but I held firm to the ground despite the slick mud. With almost no time to think, Bo'Ghadar whipped a great ax from his back, shimmering despite the darkness of the forest shade. 'Enchanted.' I murmured. I made an arching strike across the air, searing forth my violet flames. Bo'Ghadar leaped, allowing the fire to burn under him and turn the surrounding underbrush to ash. He managed to land where _Ghost Flame_ hadn't. He looked around, but I dashed in with swift feet, closing in the distance between us. Those dark eyes finally locked on me, he swung that mighty ax of his fissuring the ground. I flipped over the attack and used that momentum to bring my sword down on his head; he swung again. By some miraculous feat, I turned my body midair as Bo'Ghadar's ax's enchantment ripped through the air at lightning speeds.

A line of magicka shaped like a scythe cut through anything in its path. That included three gargantuan trees. The world around me rumbled and quaked as the timbers crashed to the forest floor. A cloud of dust washed over the swamp, making it nearly impossible to see. With the _Ghost Flame_ wrapping me in a shell of fire, the debris, and waves of the murk tsunami into the _Ghost Flame's _ward, the water evaporated into thick fog.

I opened my eyes to the world again. This fight had gone out of hand.

Finally, I turned to see Bo'Ghadar hovering on a ridge.

We watched each other intently. 'Why are you here?' I asked, slipping Nocturnal's Talon back into its scabbard. If your chieftain sent you to kill me, then you're doing a piss poor job of it.'

The orc stood a full elf's length taller than me. Bo'Ghadar's tan skin was marked with deep grooves and blotched with unhealed bruises.

'Your strength shines through like the sun in a clearing during high noon.' He threw his weapon to the ground. 'The Black Raven, I must heed your help. My clan…'

I narrowed my eyes incredulously and pointed at him. 'Your clan needs my help? I come to you with choices, and you chase me away. My options are now limited.'

Bo'Ghadar dropped to his knees. 'Please! My brother knows not what he has created. His duty to the Boghadians has left his mind distorted. The Tam'Akar has given him no choice.'

I raised an eyebrow. 'The Tam'Akar?'

'I need your help to convince them to halt their secession from the Treaty of Clean Hands. It will destroy us!' He pleaded.

'Tell me how can I convince a clan who sees no wrong in their path?'

The Boghadian looked up with honest desperation in his eyes. 'We must show them the true intentions of the Tam'Akar. Right now, they've convinced my brother that you and the Silver Crescents are stapling down on them and watching them as enemies.' Bo'Ghadar stood to his full height. 'He believes if he carries out the inquisition's will, he will stand a chance of surviving a purge on Valenwood's criminals.'

I held my chin thoughtfully. It was just as Anlanixea feared—the Tam'Akar were preparing for an onslaught on the Silver Crescents and their associates. I ground my teeth.

'Who came to you with their proposition?'

'Two Dominion assassins—Bosmer with the power to destroy anything in their path.' Bo'Ghadar clamped his teeth. The fear in his held a sharpness I didn't like.

'Bosmer assassins?' I inquired. I knew the Dominion used soldiers from all three states, but for the Tam'Akar to use Bosmer against Bosmer, that's an all-time low for them. 'Do you know who these Bosmer are?'

Bo'Ghadar shook his head slowly. 'No, but they hold swords equally as strong as yours. One young with a golden sword and the other wielding a sword that will eat the life force of any living thing it touches. I have not seen what the golden sword can do, but my brother knows. I've never seen my brother so afraid in his life.'

My eyes widened. 'A sword made of gold? Tell me! What did this Bosmer look like?'

'Young. Younger than you, Black Raven.'

'Goldfire.' I said out loud. An air of silence slipped between us. 'The late enchanter Augoth Thornbush's last testament to this world.'

If Goldfire was under Tam'Akar's control, it meant bad things were at hand. They have the power to reverse the good the Silver Crescents, and I have done over the years. But Augoth's creations can only be used by people who understood how to use them. It was a mystery I sure would like to figure out.

Before I could approach Bo'Ghadar, a rumble rippled through the swamp. I stopped in place, twitching my ears towards the sound of thundering hooves. I ran towards that edge of the ravine, Bo'Ghadar in tow, and stopped just before the ground dipped into the waterway. I hid among the underbrush, Bo'Ghadar's massive size beside me. There they were rushing down the shallow waters on Great Elk steeds. At the helm were three Inquisitors wearing the infamous black overcoats of the Thalmor's Tam'Akar. Arvancano led their charge, with his white-blonde hair spilling out of from the top of his gold-skinned head. At his side, two other agents rode with more than three dozen soldiers at their heel.

'It has begun, Black Raven.' Bo'Ghadar grumbled. 'Now is the time to act!'

'Why are they here of all places?' I watched them ride forth down to Weialin, oblivious of my position. 'This isn't good.'

Bo'Ghadar lifted his ax, but I rested a hand on his shoulder. 'Stop right there, big guy. We don't know what they're here for.'

Bo'Ghadar snapped to me. 'We both know why they're here. And if they find that you're not there, then the village is in danger.'

'Why are you concerned for a small Bosmer village way out here?'

'My concern is for Valenwood and my clan.'

We stepped out into the ravine when the final Elk was several hundred yards down. The dust from our battle hadn't settled, yet I felt as though we needed each other for the trouble to come.

I turned to Bo'Ghadar, and he watched me with iridescent interest. 'Now's the time to prove yourself, Bo'Ghadar Thriceson. The Tam'Akar wouldn't travel out here for any little reason. If they are searching for me, then I'll need your help.'

Bo'Ghadar nodded his massive head. 'It is my only hope that you will help me out with my brother and my clan.'

'That's my job. But if the time comes for your clan to make their choice, what side will you choose?'

The Wood Orc narrowed his eyes.

We darted down the ravine carrying our determination on our shoulders. For several years, I've had several run-ins with Arvancano and his team. Although they're not as elite or as powerful as Aridiil and the three he led, Arvancano is a student of Aridiil. One misstep and he could melt us in a moment's notice.

When we reached Weialin, the small population of people had already gathered in the village's center around the cavalry that just appeared. We pushed up behind the mass of bodies looking at the frightening Altmer. Arvancano dropped from his Great Elk steed, his golden eyes surveying the people as they carried on curiously. The village leader, a small Bosmer female carrying the title of Seedthane, walked along towards the inquisitor with a walking staff gripped tightly in her hand. She must've been over two hundred and fifty years old with wrinkles deep setting her face, drooping with age.

I slipped through the crowd effortlessly. I could hear the curses and complaints of people behind me as Bo'Ghadar tried the same.

'My lord, High Inquisitor, what brings you here to Weialin?' The old crone asked warily.

Children fought their way to the front, small urchins with no parents to claim them. This town quickly became a danger to them. And if I knew Arvancano well enough, he would use them to draw me out. I anticipated a fight, but a battle with Arvancano here could spell destruction for this small village. I was in an unfortunate position. You've got to know the advantages and disadvantages of your enemy, or else it could mean your defeat.

Arvancano glared at the small woman as if she was a rotted body in his path. I reached for a throwing knife from my bandolier and gripped it tightly.

'I have on the goodwill that a certain fugitive of the Aldmeri Dominion has been harbored here.' Arvancano stuck his chin in the air. 'This is not only a high crime, but it is punishable by death if you are found guilty.'

The Seedthane shook her head fast-like with widened eyes. 'I do not know of any fugitives that live here.' She waved a shaky hand towards the crowd. 'We are good people only looking to live a prosperous life in these parts.'

Arvancano narrowed his eyes. 'You don't say, Seedthane? Are you calling me a liar?'

'No! No, my lord, of course not. I only—'

'Then I suggest you listen well, Seedthane, or perhaps you… and this dirt mound would like to be erased from the map.'

'I—I' The seedthane hesitated. 'Everyone that lives here is clean of any wrongdoing. If there is a fugitive here, then none of us knows about it.'

'Is that so?' The tall Altmer inquired. 'The person I'm looking for is known as the Black Raven. She leads a small insurgency known for attacking and killing Thalmor agents across Valenwood. This seems like a perfect place to hide, so I must inform you all that allowing this terrorist to live among you will bring you nothing but imprisonment and subsequent execution. Now… does anyone have any information on her whereabouts?'

Murmurs exploded from the crowd of people. How fast the weak are prepared to turn over their own to save their skin. But I'm not one of them. I have impeded on their peace and disrupted their safety just by calling this place my home. There were no safeties provided like when I lived in Shimmer Root. Out here, the danger was always far too close.

Despite the speculations from the villagers, no one gave Arvancano what they wanted.

Frustration and impatience grew on the Tam'Akar's face. 'I know she is here, Seedthane, and I want her now.'

'But, my lord—'

Arvancano lifted a hand. Magic swirled over his fingers as he pointed it towards the crowd. 'I can count over a dozen violations of the law from just standing here, savage.' A small girl, a Wood Orc orphan, was his target.

The orc child raised into the air, being carried by Arvancano's _telekinesis _spell. She began screaming for help, but no one came to her rescue. In a flash, she was dragged through the air and clasped in his grip. Her fight was in good orcish manner, but as young as she was, against Arvancano's magic, she was nothing more than a squirming rodent.

'Dammit,' I growled. 'He's going to kill her if I don't do something.'

'You mustn't.' Bo'Ghadar said. 'Wait until the time is right.'

'Bullshit. I—'

A flash of lightning ripped through the air, sending Arvancano reeling towards the ground. The perpetrator landing beside him. The small orc girl quickly took the opportunity to make a run for it, squeezing back into the safety of the amassed crowd that didn't dare to help her.

The brave soul stood over Arvancano with a wry grin as the several of the Dominion soldiers left their saddles and brandished their standard moonstone swords. One of the other agents, Calimir, also left his saddle, stirring up an icy white swirl around his right hand. The newcomer wore black armor very similar to mine with a dark, tattered cloak in the shape of wings. I recognized the stance she took and the lightning blades she brandished. I sighed, not of a breath of relief but pure and utter annoyance.

'Who…is that…' Bo'Ghadar murmured in more confusion than astonishment.

'A very, _very_ annoying child.' I answered him.

Despite the face mask she used to keep them from recognizing her face, I knew very well who she was. Gleril won't be pleased to know his daughter traveled out here to fight Tam'Akar agents. It was already bad enough that she was supposed to be home for the hunting season of the Raw Tooth tribe.

Arvancano raised a hand to yield his entourage. He stood, rubbing the side of his cheek, an amused grin growing on his lips. 'Is that you, Black Raven?'

'In the flesh!' Meril yelled back. I shook my head in disappointment.

'Ah,' he said.

'Picking on little children again to get what you want, eh, Arvancano? I can't say I'm at all surprised!'

'Shut up,' Arvancano snarled. 'Terrorist scum like you are the very reason me and my brood have a need to exist. Now, come along, and don't make this any more difficult than it needs to be.'

'I'm all about it.' Meril chortled. 'Being difficult, that is.'

Arvancano raised his hand and sent a stream of flame towards Meril. In turn, the girl that I practically raised used her lightning blade to sling his destruction spell away. The crowd gasped and began to retreat further away from the village center. I couldn't allow a fight to break put between those two here, or people were going to get hurt.

I took a step forward, no… I tried to take a step forward, but I couldn't. My body felt like I had lead for blood. Sweat beaded on my brow, my neck stiffened from an unknown force. 'I…can't…move!' I managed to stifle.

Bo'Ghadar said nothing, but he too seemed to have become frozen in place. Out through my peripheral, I watched his finger struggle to point towards someone among the Thalmor agents. With some effort, I twitched my eyes over to see the third Tam'Akar agent with silent words spoken over his lips, his eyes unblinking.

'What is this?'

Meril quickly engaged Arvancano in a sword fight. The clanks and clamor rang out as Lightning Blades met pure ebony-steel. Twenty years ago, she was born during a desperate time where I'd lost her sister to Monsotar. I couldn't let anything happen to this one after what happened to Ceril. I needed to move and move now.

The Tam'Akar agent was skilled in his own right. For these elves, magicka-control came naturally. For us, we needed to utilize what we knew most. Meril moved like she didn't have a spine. Her ability to use every muscle in her body exceeded even my flexibility. She was a natural-born fighter, far more robust than her sister. If I were ever to choose a replacement, she would be the Black Raven second coming. But although her skills were prodigious, it was still too early to fight someone like Arvancano.

In her defense, it was only a matter of time. Arvancano gripped her with his Alteration magicks and tossed her across the floor. He grinned with satisfaction and lifted Meril once more and slammed her unconscious in the mud. I was helpless to do anything but watch as the girl I trained from a youngling get tossed around like a little rag doll.

I instead began to focus on the inquisitor spilling the spell from afar. The connection between me and my sword reached an impasse. With a roar, the _Ghost Flame_ ripped from my blade, but I'd lost the battle, and I slipped into unconsciousness.


End file.
